


Primitive (Four Ways Remus Didn't Mourn and One Way He Did).

by supergrover24



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Breathplay, Character Death, M/M, sexualized suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supergrover24/pseuds/supergrover24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus wants to mourn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primitive (Four Ways Remus Didn't Mourn and One Way He Did).

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Inspiration hit while in the shower, singing along to the Annie Lennox song of the same name. It begged to be a song fic, but I stayed strong. Also, I'm sure a little bit of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ was reverberating in my head. Thanks to [](http://ilexa.livejournal.com/profile)[**ilexa**](http://ilexa.livejournal.com/) for telling me it didn't suck, and to [](http://novembersnow.livejournal.com/profile)[**novembersnow**](http://novembersnow.livejournal.com/) for the impromptu and somewhat forced beta.  
>  Originally Posted on LJ on May 17, 2005

_Sweetheart  
The sun has set  
All red and primitive above our heads  
Blood stained on an ageless sky  
Wipe your tears and let the salt stains dry  
\--Primitive, Annie Lennox_

**i.**

The long walk up the hill to the Shrieking Shack did little to quell Remus's nerves. He hadn't been inside in years, not since Sirius had come back to him and Peter had escaped. And now he was returning, alone once more, the last of the Marauders again, Peter as good as dead and Sirius...

Sirius had been his normal, wonderful brash self, rushing off to adventure and to rescue his godson. The impetuous nature Remus had long envied and feared had once more landed Sirius in a fix, this one more permanent than all the others.

All Remus wanted—all he needed—was a place to say good-bye. There had been no body for him to mourn, no long locks of black hair to brush off Sirius's face just one more time, no _finality_ , just more uncertainty. It was oddly reminiscent of the twelve long years Sirius had been in Azkaban, except then Remus could cling to the knowledge that Sirius was alive, if it could be called _life_. But his heart still beat and Remus could imagine that the rhythm was in time with his own, miles and years unable to push them further into syncopation.

Now his heart was unsteady, thrumming wildly and squeezing his chest with every step he took. Remus knew, the closer he got to the door, that this wasn't where he'd find peace. Peace was never a word he'd associated with the rundown hovel. He would not—he could not—start now.

**ii.**

In the copse behind the Black estate was a small burial plot protected not by the wrought iron fence that surrounded it, but by the crackle of dark magic that burnt the hand of anyone who dared to enter. Remus didn't know who was back there; no markers were visible. He knew that Sirius had hated them, that their names and histories had been drilled into the brothers Black alongside spells and hexes, and Remus hoped they were rotting in the ground before him. Remus couldn't reconcile Andromeda and Tonks with the screeching woman whose portrait hung inside the house and refused to consider asking them how to gain access.

He knew, as strongly as he knew his own name, that Sirius would have hated being buried there as much as he hated being trapped inside his ancestral home. After all, Azkaban wasn't the only prison with a sentence worse than death.

**iii.**

He tried to go to the Ministry of Magic, foolishly thinking he'd get to the veil inside the Department of Mysteries.

Remus never made it inside the red telephone box, its bright color taunting him as he rushed past.

**iv.**

Dumbledore's expression when Remus asked for permission to go up to Gryffindor Tower was as expected—one part frown, two parts sad twinkle and overpowered by the smell of chamomile tea and sherbet lemon drops. He slowly made his way among the corridors, the twists and turns taking him back twenty years, back to when things were so much simpler, when the only problems in his life were his curse and his all-consuming love for a boy with eyes that seemed to look deep inside him, stripping him bare without putting a hand to cloth.

The common room looked much the same as it had all those years ago. Overstuffed furniture that made the cavernous room seem strangely small, tables waiting patiently to be piled high with scrolls and Honeyduke's sweets, so much red and gold that Remus winced, long used to the darkness of the world outside Hogwarts. He climbed the stairs to the top of the tower, breath short and bones creaking, betraying his age. He could remember running up and down these steps, but now he took his time, trailing a hand along the wall as though the feel of the rough stone against his fingertips could ground him.

The last steps were the hardest. Pushing open the door to the fifth floor dormitory—to where it all began—he felt himself transported to a time when loving Sirius was as easy as breathing. Four-poster beds with open curtains reminded him of the first time Sirius crawled into his bed in the middle of the night, when the light of the fading moon made him feel beautiful and not like a monster.

Sirius made him beautiful, with his touch and his mouth and his whispered _Moony, Moony, my delicious Moony_ and Remus collapsed on the floor, hands wrapped around his knees, face buried. He didn't know how long he sat there, rocking back and forth, but when he stood, he felt as though he knew where to go, how to say a proper farewell to Sirius. Remus looked out the window toward the setting sun and rubbed the sticky salt of his tears away.

Yes, it was time to say good-bye.

**v.**

Remus slipped into the room he and Sirius had shared their last months at Grimmauld Place. He hadn't been sleeping there, not since Sirius had died. The bed was too big, too lonely, too _them_.

And the portrait of a cocky fifteen-year-old Sirius hanging on the wall upset him too much.

Tonight, though, that was what he needed to see. Sirius as he'd been when Remus had let him into his bed and into his heart. He watched the oddly silent boy on the canvas. Sirius's eyes grew wide as Remus slowly undressed, slipping off his robe first, then his cardigan and shirt, his trousers, his pants, until he was naked in front of Sirius, feeling more exposed and freer than he'd ever felt before.

"Christ, Moony. You're still beautiful, even though you're old."

Remus just smiled at him and made his way to the bed, grabbing the forest green scarf that Sirius had worn all winter off the bureau as he passed. He settled against the headboard, facing the portrait purposefully as he arranged the pillows behind him.

He remembered all the times he and Sirius had made love here, slow and gentle, whispered words of love gasped between them. But as he slipped the scarf around his neck, his mind focused on all the other moments in this room. The night they'd barely made it inside, instead just rubbing against each other like the teenagers they'd once been, coming in their pants before they'd properly got naked.

It was the long, lazy afternoon he remembered most, though. The absolutely nondescript Thursday, except for how they'd started out unhurried and deliberate, touching each other with gentle hands and tracing paths with heated mouths and sharp teeth, and suddenly they were forceful, fast and bloody perfect. Remus had Sirius pinned beneath him, the tight heat of the man he loved pulling the orgasm from his body far quicker than he would've liked. He could feel the pulse of Sirius's heart against his prick with every slick slide and Remus wanted it everywhere, wished it could surround him, envelop his entire being and he wrapped his hands roughly around Sirius's neck and squeezed and there it was, wrapping him in a blanket of life and he screamed as his orgasm was ripped from him and Sirius grinned as he came between them.

The memory played out in Remus's mind as he whispered the spell that pulled the scarf ever tighter around his neck, his cock hard and throbbing in his hand. He looked at the portrait of the boy he loved and smiled before he tilted his head back, the wool scratchy against his throat, his vision blacking, his other senses heightening. He pulled on his prick harder, desperate to come, desperate to be back with Sirius so he'd never have to find a place to mourn, so he could just _be_ , he and Sirius the way they'd always dreamt. He heard his name being screamed, begging him to stop, but he didn't, he couldn't, because there was no more breath in his body, just a wonderful feeling of peace and freedom.

And then he heard the whispered _Moony, Moony, my delicious Moony_ and instead of saying good-bye, he got to say hello. 


End file.
